Natalie: What’s the second?

Charlotte: The other option, and this is probably your safest bet just to make sure everything is done properly, is to get a divorce in NY.

Natalie: Ugh, I don’t want to be divorced. I wanted to not be married.

Charlotte: I get it, but this seems like a decent solution. It’s easy, too. In your case, you’d do what’s called an uncontested divorce. And those are different than the long, protracted NY divorces we all hear about.

Natalie: Why can’t we just get the marriage annulled in NY?

Charlotte: Well, let’s see if you qualify. Were either one of you married to someone else?

Natalie: Um. No.

Charlotte: So no bigamy case can be made, then. Check that off. Were either of you unable to have sexual intercourse at the time of the marriage?

Natalie: Very funny. We were the opposite. Apparently that’s all we were able to do.

Charlotte: I thought so :) And were either of you incurably insane for five or more years?

Natalie: Definitely for the entire night. Does that count?

Charlotte: Doesn’t quite add up to five years, I’m afraid. So, as you can see, New York is a wee bit complicated when it comes to granting annulments. Weirdly, divorce is easier in NY. At least, an uncontested divorce is. I vote for that.

Natalie: Great. Now I’ll be a divorced woman. It’ll be this black mark.

Charlotte: They don’t brand divorced people, Nat. Or make you get a tattoo.

Natalie: I know there’s no shame in divorcing for real. But this isn’t a real divorce. It’s dumbass divorce, born from vodka, hormones, and stupidity. I was such an idiot.

Charlotte: You were just having fun.

Natalie: In my case, fun = idiocy

Charlotte: Stop beating yourself up. Just do what you need to do.

Natalie: I will . . . I’m just so . . . I can’t focus . . . My videos suck . . . This whole situation is getting me down.

Charlotte: Why?

Natalie: You know why

Charlotte: Because of how you feel?

Natalie: I HATE FEELINGS. MAKE THEM STOP.

Charlotte: Poof. Done.

Natalie: I love you. Thank you. I’m better now.

Charlotte: Come over later, and we’ll cuddle. For now, I’m emailing you all the details of what to do next.

At four o’clock, I cross the sidewalk to my truck, loading the tools in the cab. A dude with a scraggly beard and a filthy jacket wanders past me. He stops, turns around, and gives me a thumbs-up. “Hey, man, don’t know why you threw out that sandwich this morning, but I’m glad you did. It was awesome.”

My face is blank for a few seconds, then it dawns on me. He survived the turkey ambush. Which means not only did I not become an accessory to murder, Natalie didn’t try to off me with a ciabatta.

Of course she didn’t, you idiot. You jumped to conclusions. You assumed the worst. You lumped her in with all the others. You should have known better.

When I return to the office, she’s placing the pages she just printed on her desk. I set down the tools, walk over to her, and park my hands on her shoulders.

She blinks, surprised I’m so close.

Chase’s advice resonates.

Do the opposite.

22

If my instinct has been to assume she wanted me terminated via turkey, I’m going to do the opposite. “The sandwich was to die for,” I tell her, privately enjoying my inside joke. I wrap my arms around her in a hug.

I can feel her smile against my shoulder. “It was just a sandwich, but you’re welcome.”

When we separate, our eyes meet, and my gratitude disappears. So does my stupidity. In its place is only desire. I brush her hair from her cheek, run my thumb along her jawline, and bring my forehead to hers. “I want you so fucking much,” I tell her, because it’s not only the truth—it’s the opposite of what I wanted to say to her this morning.

She grips my shirt and her eyes darken. “I want you so much it drives me crazy.”

A lusty sort of relief floods me. Cupping her cheeks in my hands, I gaze into her eyes, and the fire inside me intensifies. What flickered earlier is now blazing. I slant my mouth to hers, and the second our lips touch, all these warring emotions settle, replaced by only the absolute rightness of what I feel for her.

Her lips part, and I slide my tongue inside her mouth. My head spins, and my heart slams against my chest. I’ve missed this. I’ve craved this. I’ve needed this. I kiss her like there’s nothing else in the world I’d rather do. My body aligns with her, my erection against her hip, and she moans lightly, pulling me closer as she backs up. Her ass hits the metal desk, then she scoots up on it. My eyes snap open to see papers sliding behind her, then to the floor. She perches on the desk, opening her legs to draw me against her.

I’m there, wedged between her thighs, my throbbing erection pressed hard against her skin. Where it belongs. Jesus Christ. This is where I want to be. Here with her. Ready for me.

I break the kiss, dragging my rough hands down her bare arms. She shudders as I touch her, and wraps her legs more tightly around me.

“I can’t stop thinking about fucking you again, Nat. About touching you again,” I say, bringing my mouth to her ear. “And tasting you.”

She trembles as a soft gasp falls from her lips.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I pull her earlobe between my teeth and nip the flesh. “I bet you’d like my face between your legs.”

Her answer sounds wanton as she moans yes.